


Equinox (The Master of Death)

by swbooker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brothers, Family, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Harry Potter is Voldemort's Child, Parent Voldemort, Rise of Voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swbooker/pseuds/swbooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, Master is Death, is reborn as Tom Riddle's heir. Heir to Voldemort's dark empire and the brother of his godfather, Sirius Black, Harry must choose between the person he used to be and the person he is now. Shall he fulfil a destiny he thought he had long ago escaped, or will he bow to his new role in life and become the ultimate heir? CONTINUED ON: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11284214/1/Equinox-The-Master-of-Death</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once More Unto the Breach

**Author's Note:**

> I have this story very loosely planned out until the end and I love writing it! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> WHAT YOU CAN EXPECT: befriending of the Marauders, the rise of Voldemort, Dumbledore, Hogwarts, some S. Snape action, action in general, some adventure, maybe romance, conflict, family and brotherly love, scenes between Tom Riddle and his heir... This is mostly about family and the reality of consequence, meaning that being the heir of Voldemort will show Harry things he wouldn't have ordinarily seen. You'll see!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than the rest because it's acting as a prologue. Sort of.

**– CHAPTER ONE –**  
**ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH**

Harry Potter – Boy Who Lived and Master of Death – was once again being reborn.

In his past life, he’d been living as a student at Hogwarts in the time of the Founders, and he was sad to see that life pass – but he eagerly awaited his new one. So far, discounting his first and original life where he had been born as Harry James Potter, he’d lived nine lives that varied greatly from each other; previously, he’d been muggle-born, pure-blood, half-blood, rich, poor, high-class, middle-class, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, a student of Durmstrang and even home-schooled. In his second life, he was murdered at seventeen as he slept for being a “blood traitor”, or so much he had gathered.

So, he was very much excited to see what challenges awaited him in his new life.

“Push one last time, Walburga!” Harry could hear a woman calling; “One last push!”

Walburga… Now, that was a name Harry remembered. _How?_ He wondered. Could it be possible he encountered this woman in one of his past lives? How very interesting. He may get to meet one of his past selves, if it even _worked_ like that –

The light, even after witnessing it nine times previously, was so startling that Harry cried as all babies did, and the surprise was made only worse by the feeling of being jostled about. He squinted, his small baby eyes attempting to pry themselves open again, and slowly he adjusted to the harsh lighting and blinked slowly. He clenched his hands, wiggled his legs, and tried to get a feel of his new body. Whoever was holding him seemed amused at his antics; looking up, he saw a kind woman dressed in what Harry recognised to be modern Healer uniforms. Was he in the same timeline as his original self, Harry James Potter?

“Spritely little man,” said the healer. One finger gently stroked through what little hair he had as he was cleaned and swathed in a blanket, and he stopped crying, feeling a bit more adjusted. “He’s very strong.”

“He’s beautiful,” said another; someone behind them. “Have you decided on a name, Walburga?”

The next voice that spoke was deeper, haughtier, and Harry froze upon hearing it with wide-open eyes. “That is for my Lord to decide,” said the woman that Harry could now recognise, easily, as Walburga Irma Black. “Bring him here.”

Harry felt the healer move; belatedly, he started to sob because _oh_ just _what_ was going _on – why,_ oh _why_ was he condemned to a mother as foul as Walburga? And her _Lord_? Who the hell was her ‘Lord’–?

Oh. Oh, dear Godric and his seven children, _no!_ _Not Lord Voldemort,_ thought Harry hysterically. _Dear bloody hell, not him._

And yet, as Harry (he’d never heard of a clinically depressed baby before) was passed into the arms of his new mother and he gazed up at her hauntingly beautiful face, he could not deny it: Walburga Black was to be his mum. And, by the sounds of it, Harry’s life had already been given to Lord Voldy-Shorts and his severe daddy issues.

At least this life was going to be entertaining.

“Good lungs,” said a smooth, masculine voice to Harry’s right; “Good reactions; good strength… Mrs. Black, it seems your infallible blood has performed well in procuring me a strong heir.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” said Walburga, “It was an honour to be chosen.”

“Indeed,” said the voice. (Harry was feeling so very sick, all of a sudden, and he wondered if Walburga would much mind him throwing up all over her.) “As for his name, I have, of course, already chosen.”

“May I be so bold as to ask what?” asked Walburga.

Now, Harry knew that Walburga and her husband, Orion, were proud people; because of this, he knew that she would not give birth to _just_ _anyone’s_ heir, and that she would not lower herself to such an extreme sycophantic attitude for _just anyone_. And then, there were she was, addressing this man as ‘my Lord’, and being careful as to what she said –

And Harry just _knew._

“He is of your blood too, Walburga,” said Tom Riddle. It was _the_ Tom Riddle, the Tom Riddle he was before he was resurrected and looked like a snake. “Nevertheless, I am sure you are aware that _I_ shall be raising him – though you may see him periodically, if you wish–”

“I wouldn’t dream of imposing upon you and your heir, my Lord,” said Walburga, “but I will look after him should you need me.”

There was a short silence. Tom, it seemed, was thinking over what she said and apparently found it satisfactory, for after a while he said slowly, “Cadmus. His name is Cadmus Marvolo Riddle, named for my ancestors.”

“Traditional,” breathed Walburga. “It is a fine name, my Lord.”

My Lord… _Marvolo… Riddle…_ Oh, Godric, he truly _was_ of Voldemort’s blood and – and sperm. The thought alone was enough to make him gag, but actually _living_ in a body made of Voldemort, _experiencing it_ –

Before Harry himself truly knew what was happening, there was a great blast, and it took everyone in the room a long, startled moment to realise it had come from him – from Cadmus, as he was now known.

“Was that magic?” asked one healer hoarsely. “Accidental magic? At this age?”

“He is strong,” said Tom. “As strong as me. That is excellent… Excellent indeed…”

“Did you recognise the spell?” asked the other healer.

Tom seemed to want to _Crucio_ her for not showing him the respect he deserved, but instead he nodded. “Scourgify,” he said, softly. “The cleaning charm. How very peculiar.”

And if Cadmus started laughing then, well, it couldn’t be helped. Apparently he felt so dirty that even his magic agreed with him.

“But magic so strong? That is unheard of–”

“Did you truly expect my heir to be anything less than impressive?” asked Tom scathingly to the healer who spoke; Harry realised, then, that both healers were Death Eaters – perhaps new recruits – and that they were not in the hospital. “Did you doubt the power of my blood?”

“N-No, my Lord,” grovelled the healer. “It is just so unusual – even for one of such fine breeding–”

“Yes,” interjected Tom with a hiss. “Yes, it is unusual… impressive, indeed…”

Harry heard the footsteps. He knew what was coming, and even braced himself for it, but it still did not prepare him for the moment when Tom Riddle peered over at him through searching red eyes, and smiled sharply.

“I think you will be something, Cadmus, my heir,” he hissed.

Harry, for once, wished he was nothing.


	2. Nary A Hair Out of Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the routine lives of Tom Riddle and his heir, Cadmus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter with the first so you can get to grips with what this story is like, how it's written, it's atmosphere etc. Enjoy!

**– CHAPTER TWO –**   
**NARY A HAIR OUT OF PLACE**

Harry established within moments that Tom Riddle was not a father in the modern sense of the word; however, in the traditional sense, meaning he donated his sperm, he fit the bill perfectly. Unfortunately, this meant Harry was lacking in ways to agitate the Dark Lord, but found that perhaps it was for the best; he didn’t want someone to be tortured as a result of the anger he invoked, nor did he feel having Tom hate him would be in his best interest. So, he was a good child, and did all of that which he was told to do, no matter how much he disliked it.

Acting like a child was probably the most degrading, and most unenjoyable, part of each stage of rebirth. It was hard luck remembering to dumb himself down as he spoke and remember that he was not actually meant to be a spirit who is hundreds of years’ old living in the body of an infant. So, of course, he had to pretend to start learning speech and how to walk, and let people change his nappy no matter _how_ degrading he found it (and not to mention _invasive –_ and really, his stupid nanny always giggled at how _small_ he was, and that was just horrific because _he couldn’t bloody help it, the old bint_ ).

While Tom did not look after Harry himself, he did teach Harry some things and punish him (which was a rare occasion) and, sometimes, even told Harry stories that Harry realised were meant to brainwash him into thinking muggle-borns and muggles were Satan on Earth. Of course, Harry acted the fascinated child and resisted the urge to spit in Tom’s face, for he was sure he’d be spanked (but not by Tom himself – Tom preferred to use spells – because getting spanked by the Dark Lord would just be mortifying).

One surprisingly good thing about being raised (which was a debatable term, when used here) by Tom was that Tom expected a lot of his heir. This meant that Harry, as Cadmus, could act as a very intelligent child and Tom’s arrogance would allow him to feel nothing but pleasure and pride; after all, it was _Tom’s_ blood that was the result of this; _Tom’s_ heir that was so fantastically gifted.

Now, at five, Cadmus was sat in the parlour reading the Tale of the Three Brothers. Tom was sat opposite him, watching his heir with dark eyes that was at odds with the redness of what was once called his whites; somehow, despite this disfiguration, Tom was still a disarmingly handsome man who was much desired. Harry, in looks, followed in his footsteps: he had dark hair (which he loved; in his past life he was a blonde, and found he missed the familiarity that came with black hair – it was signature for him) and flawless, pale skin, with long lashes, high cheekbones and – unsurprisingly – his own green eyes.

Death, it seemed, liked Harry to keep his eyes as a reminder of whom he is, who he was, and to keep Harry from losing himself amongst his identities. The colour of his eyes helped to ground him, Harry supposed, because of their familiarity.

And he did like having green eyes.

“So, I’m named after the second brother?” asked Cadmus, in his high, childish voice that he detested. It was so _distasteful_ when compared to the rich voice he had grown used to in his past life for, oh, ninety years, was it? “Brother Cadmus?”

“Yes,” said Tom. “Cadmus Peverell. He is our ancestor, an heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, and the creator of the Resurrection Stone.”

“Does the Stone truly exist, Father?” asked Cadmus. He, of course, knew it bloody well existed. He could summon it to his hands if he wanted; as well as the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak.

As the Master of Death, even if he didn’t carry them or have them in his possession, Harry was considered the Hallows’ rightful owner and master and, as such, could summon them. (Of course, Harry never did so because he didn’t want anyone asking questions.) He would be able to do so until he formerly denounced his title as Master of Death, which allowed another person to gather all three Hallows, become their master, and thus become the Master of Death. That could take decades, however – even centuries. The Master of Death before Harry had been four centuries ago and it had been – at this, Harry _cackled_ – a muggle-born.

This also meant that Cadmus Peverell did _not_ create the Stone – Death did – and was in fact, just an every-day, run-of-the-mill decedent of Salazar Slytherin. Harry wondered if Tom would be disappointed, knowing that. Probably not. Cadmus was still, after all, a pureblood – and he was rumoured to be a Parselmouth.

“The Stone, indeed, exists,” said Tom with a leer. “I have it in my possession. And, perhaps one day, you too shall have it.”

“Yes, Father,” said Cadmus. He hesitated only briefly before asking, “Are we continuing with Potions class this afternoon?”

“No, Cadmus. I am hoping to introduce you to something much more interesting, today. Something I am sure you have been eager to learn: Dark magic.”

Dark magic. Of course.

Well, Cadmus had not been eager to learn such magic but had, in past lives, been taught it before. After all, there was a time where magic was not categorised; it used to be said that it was how the magic was used that made it Dark. Then came along curses that could expel ones’ entrails or make them vomit up their own heart, and they couldn’t really be thought of as being used for any good.

Harry had one thing to say to that: Surgical. Manoeuvres.

“Dark magic?” Harry was sure to make himself sound curious, and he leaned forward in his seat ever so slightly.

Tom ate it up. “Yes, my heir–” Tom only called Harry that when he was particularly pleased, “–Dark magic. I believe, because of your age, we shall try something that cannot backfire… something simple… Perhaps an Unforgivable? How would you feel about learning Imperio, my heir?”

“I would be thrilled to learn anything you wish to teach me, Father,” said Cadmus. _Ever the sycophant,_ he thought. He’d make sure to sway his behaviour with age; but at five, he was supposed to be young and impressionable and look up to his father.

How sickening it was that his father was Voldemort.

“Excellent, excellent…” Tom was thrilled. “I shall have Rosier bring us a filthy muggle from the dungeons. You are certain you are ready?”

Obviously, Tom was an awful father, because he did not know that five-year-olds were meant to be, generally, incompetent. _Then again_ , he _was_ Cadmus Marvolo Riddle, was he not?

“Yes, Father _._ I’m certain!”

Tom chuckled; it was a deep sound, somewhat hissed, and he actually placed his hand on Cadmus’ head of hair as he stood. “My heir,” he said, perhaps fondly. “You are quite excellent.”

“Father?” Cadmus froze, staring up at his father in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure what to do.

Tom was – he was – well, he was Tom Riddle. He hadn’t been around much for the first few years of Cadmus’ life, aside from checking up on him, ordering around his nannies and tutors and telling Cadmus stories, but he had been there a lot recently and elected to teach Cadmus frequently, postponing his Dark Lordly duties. Harry couldn’t say he was a good father, or a loving one, and he couldn’t say that he liked that man, but the way he revered Cadmus was certainly – new – for Voldemort; seeing him express some form of positivity was interesting, and it was at times like this where he expressed such feeling that…

“You remind me of myself, Cadmus,” Tom said, “This is to be expected because you are my heir, of course… but I am proud of you nevertheless.”

Cadmus did not know what to say. He did not know what to do.

Slowly, stiffly, he stood, and Tom removed his hand from the top of his head. “Thank you, Father,” he whispered.

Tom examined him, his eyes searching every tweak in his son’s expression, before he nodded. “Come,” he said. “I will teach you how to cast the Imperious Curse, and when you are older, I will teach you how to resist it – that is harder, much harder, to do. We shall have to work on your Occlumency before then.”

Cadmus nodded once more and obediently followed his father, trailing behind ever so slightly, because Tom liked to see that despite the brilliance of his heir, he was still the best.  Not that he expected to be rivalled by a five-year-old that admired him.

“In the month of October, I will not be here, Cadmus,” said Tom. “You will be spending time with Orion and Walburga Black. You will not be forced to interact with their sons, Sirius and Regulus, particularly given that you are my heir and their elder.”

No-one had ever told him that his mother was Walburga, although of course, he already knew. It was okay that no-one had told him – in truth, he didn’t want to acknowledge that he was related to her – and he hadn’t expected them to tell him. However, only now was it sinking in that he was really, truly Walburga’s son – because if he was Walburga’s son, he was Sirius half-brother.

“Yes, Father.”

He did not ask why Tom would be gone for a whole month. That would only end in reprimand.

Tom continued on. “You remember Walburga, do you not?” he asked.

Cadmus nodded.

“Her nieces Andromeda and Narcissa will be there at times, and they are more or less the same age as you. Bellatrix, however, starts Hogwarts in September. I trust you remember?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” With a sweep of his hand, Tom wandlessly opened the doors before him that lead to the Grand Hall – or, as Harry referred to it, his Throne Room. It was where he delighted on torturing whoever he felt the need to torture, and meeting with Death Eaters. Harry had not been in there too often.

Immediately, the few Death Eaters that were inside bowed down so low Harry thought it must hurt, and he tried not to laugh.

“Leave,” ordered Tom. “Except you, Rosier – you are to bring me the muggle girl from downstairs.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Rosier, and left promptly.

The wait was not long; in fact, Tom had only just settled upon his throne when Rosier returned, an incarcerated muggle brought hovering in behind him.

“Excellent,” hissed Tom. He indicated for Rosier to put the muggle down and he did so, but he left her tied up. “Thank you, Rosier. You may leave.”

Rosier bowed once again then left, closing the door behind him.

“Now, Cadmus, I am sure you know the spell, correct?” Once Cadmus nodded, Tom continued, “There is no trick in casting it. You must simply point your wand. However, it is the intention that makes all the difference; with the Unforgivables, you must _want_ to use them. This is particularly important with the Killing and Torture curses, but I shall go into that at a later date.

“Do you feel you could try it? Or would you prefer me to show you first?”

Harry thought for a moment. On the one hand, he could go ahead and perform it on first try, thus pleasing Tom, or he could get it on the second go, _or_ he could ask Tom to do it first (Harry wasn’t certain what Tom would think of that) and then perform it perfectly?

“What would you have me instruct her to do, Father?”

Tom smiled something feral. “Oh, Cadmus,” he said, and flicked his wand in a gesture that untied the muggle, “that pleasure is entirely your own.”

Harry thought that through again. That meant, seemingly, that Tom wished him to harm the muggle… but how could he do so without it being fatal? He hadn’t killed needlessly before, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now; and yet, he needed Tom to believe he was as sadistic as himself – a true protégé – so what was brutal enough, yet not mortally wounding, to convince him just that?

And then suddenly, Harry got it. Aware that Tom was watching his every move, he stepped forward, aimed his wand, and said, “ _Imperio!_ ”

Instantly, Harry watched the calm relax every muscle in the muggle’s face, and heard his father hiss in delight behind him. And then, without thinking too much about it, he gave her the order.

The muggle began to rip out her hair.

“Excellent!” Tom was laughing – or so it sounded – and when Cadmus looked at him, the spell faded and the muggle slowly came back to her conscious mind. She stared in horror the clumps of hair tangled between her fingers, and then wept so suddenly that her body trembled with the force.

Tom silenced and bound her once more.

“Cadmus, my heir, you have done so well.” The pride in Tom’s voice was unprecedented – it was as if Tom only then realised who Cadmus was; what he was capable of – and involuntarily, Harry started to feel somewhat pleased. It had been a while since someone had given him such praise – even if it was Voldemort…

No; perhaps it was _because_ it was Voldemort. Harry was certain that Voldemort had never given such genuine praise before.

“On your first attempt, as well?” Tom smiled. “I expected nothing less, but still, you surprise me. Many wizards have to try several times until it is so effective… but of course, you are not a normal wizard, you are my heir…”

Cadmus did not say a word; he only watched, and waited, as Tom got to his feet. “When you are older,” said Tom slowly, his gaze locked on his heir, “I feel that we will do great things together, Cadmus. Great things, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any reviews and kudos you decide to leave me! It is all appreciated, especially if it helps me to improve.


	3. The Life and Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see the bond between Sirius, Regulus and Cadmus. Cadmus bares his father's anger and receives an unusual Christmas gift.

**– CHAPTER THREE –**   
**THE LIFE AND TIMES**

An eight-year-old Cadmus Riddle sat in Grimmauld Place, his half-brothers Sirius and Regulus Black (who were unaware of their familial bonds to him) at his side.

“How’d you get this one, Mus?” asked four-year-old Regulus, whom still thought ‘Mus’ was a cool nickname.

Cadmus smiled. Having never had a younger brother – in _any_ of his lives – he found Regulus’ nickname sweet, and enjoyed how the younger looked up at him. Of course, Sirius did too, but not to quite the same degree – Sirius wasn’t as impressionable as Regulus, seen clearly in his rebellion against his entire family in later life.

“That one?” asked Cadmus. He looked down at the bruise on his arm that Regulus was indicating to. It was a recent bruise in the shape of a hand, inflicted by his father who had dragged him to Walburga in a fit of rage – his Death Eaters had, apparently, been idiots again, and he’d had to take an unexpected trip. “ _That_ one I got just two days ago from an Inferius that grabbed me when I took a ring from its very finger – it was a priceless heirloom that was taken from my family _decades_ ago.”

 “Did _not_ ,” said Sirius, but his eyes were wide and he was staring at Cadmus in awe.

Cadmus grinned. “I did!” he said. “And _then_ , my father severed its head from its body and it _kept moving_. I had to hit it with a blasting hex before it finally stopped.”

Regulus, trying and failing not to bounce in excitement, said, “I wish I got to do that!”

“Your mother just loves you too much to put you in danger.” Harry was lying through his teeth, and felt awful for doing it. “Maybe one day, you can do it.”

Sirius shook his head. “She doesn’t,” he mumbled. “She hit me, other day, for talking to this Muggle I saw who looked hungry.”

“She hit you? Where?” Cadmus gently ran his wand over Sirius’ temple and the area just below his eyes – now that he looked closely, he saw that it looked swollen – and healed it with a quick non-verbal spell; but he did not heal his own, because Regulus liked to see them, and Harry enjoyed coming up with an array of stories to tell him. “There. All better. Now, you tell me when she hits you again. She shouldn’t have.”

Sirius nodded, shame-faced.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

Sirius muttered something, and Cadmus leaned forward, putting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Regulus was tucked under his other arm. “What is it, Sirius?”

“Was I wrong to talk to the Muggle?” he repeated quietly.

Cadmus shook his head. “No,” he said, vehemently. “No, you weren’t. Muggles are just the same as wizards, and deserve to be treated the same, but your mother doesn’t think so. She thinks you were wrong to talk to any of them, so don’t tell her you and I think otherwise.”

Hopeful, Sirius looked straight into Cadmus’ eyes, and Cadmus was startled to see tears there. “You don’t think I was wrong?”

“No, I don’t,” repeated Cadmus. “You were right. Your mother’s wrong. Muggles, pure-bloods, Muggle-borns and half-bloods are all the same, Sirius. You don’t need to listen to her, or believe in what she believes in. Not in your heart. Just… don’t let her know that you don’t agree with her, at least not until you’re older. I don’t want you getting hurt. If something like this happens again, and she hurts you, talk to me about it, okay? I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Shuffling closer to Cadmus, Sirius blinked heavily and nodded once, twice, three times, and when Cadmus put his arm around Sirius’ shoulder, Sirius did not pull away. “Thank you,” he said, tearfully. “I didn’t – she told me I was wrong – and stupid – and that they were worthless – and I didn’t–”

“Shush, Sirius,” Cadmus soothed. “I know. But you’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.” At this point, Cadmus smiled at Regulus, too, who smiled shakily back. “Both of you. Okay, Regulus? You have to talk to me, too.”

“Okay, Mus,” Regulus said.

There was a silence for a moment, and the three of them stayed wrapped up in the hug. Then Cadmus, wanting to make the boys feel better, said, “Do you want to see something cool?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“All right.” Harry, with a grin, pointed his wand at Sirius’ hair. “ _Colovaria_ ,” he said, and in an instant, Sirius’ hair began changing from a dark brown to a bright, bubble-gum pink.

Regulus shrieked with joy, and Sirius, who was at first startled, grabbed at his hair and tugged it into his eyes, then laughed childishly.

“Me too!” cried Regulus. “Me too!”

“ _Colovaria_ ,” Harry repeated, and Regulus’ hair turned into the colour of a sunflower.

Harry was lost upon laughter; he revelled in it, chuckling himself, and was rapturous that he got to see his godfather – his original godfather – so happy. He was even happier that _he_ was the cause; that there was joy inside the man Harry had seen die.

Of course, since the death of Sirius Black, Harry had seen tens – perhaps hundreds – of people die that mattered to him. The Founders of Hogwarts, all of whom Harry had formed relationships with, had all disappeared in his life-time. They didn’t die, but one year, they all simply left. And there were other teachers in their place.

It broke Harry’s heart, in some ways. In others, it made him better. Stronger.

“You too, Mus!” said Regulus. “Green Hair! Can I do it?”

And so, with a nod and a smile, Harry spent a good ten minutes teaching the two boys he had grown to adore the colour-changing charm that Sirius would later use in many of his pranks.

“I wish our father taught us cool things like this,” said Sirius. “Your father takes you on adventures, and teaches you all these spells!”

“I taught myself some of them, Sirius,” Cadmus said supportively. “I can bring you a book full of spells like these next time I come, all right?”

“Yes, please!” Sirius was grinning so widely his face could pop. “Thank you, Cadmus.”

“That’s okay, Sirius. Now, I better change our hair back. Your mother won’t be pleased if she sees us like this.”

Harry did not mention that his father, in fact, would be furious to see him doing something as childish as changing their hair to ridiculous colours; partly because he didn’t think they ought to know, and partly because they did not know who his father was. In fact, no-one truly knew. He suspected they’d all find out when he went to Hogwarts, but the extent of people who knew who he was, was widened to Walburga, Orion, Voldemort himself and a few of his trusted Death Eaters: Rosier, Mulciber, Rowle… Cadmus guessed that there was under ten people that truly knew who he was; and fewer than ten people (that were not family) had ever even seen him, and that was restricted to the two nannies he had when he was younger (both now killed by Tom), about five Death Eaters, and tutors that taught him from time-to-time.

Everything about him was so secret. And that was why Harry was dying to know what people – what Sirius and Regulus – would think when the truth came out.

Tom returned from his urgent trip a week later, and Harry was sent back to the Manor after wishing goodbye to his ‘brothers’. Once he got there and met his father, he realised that Tom was still furious, and was uncertain how to react.

“Welcome back, Father,” he said, hesitantly.

Tom did not face him. Instead, Harry had the pleasure of staring at his back, strained with tension as it was, tall and upright. His fury was palpable; Harry could feel the distant sting of his scar, although he knew that was impossible. The look of Tom in that moment, however, the sound of his displeasure ringing in the space between them…

For someone who was not living their tenth life; for someone who had not seen countless horrors… It was terrifying. Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards in two centuries, and he was Dark, and cruel, at that.

And somehow, Harry had killed him.

It seemed wrong.

“Cadmus,” hissed Tom furiously, “ _Why_ are you not studying? _Why_ are you bothering me? I have much to deal with; Malfoy has managed to fail at yet another task… I cannot do anything to fix it… and this has cost much. _Too much!”_

There was a crackle of power and suddenly Voldemort exploded. Lightning burst up around him and shot from the tips of his fingers, and he was shouting in outrage, and Harry ears and eyes hurt so badly from the sight but it was so _magnificent_ , such rage. If only he could feel love so powerfully – if only Harry could –

“Father, I wanted to show you something I think you will like.”

Tom spun on his heel, seething in that cold way of his, although the lightning still glowed and spat around him. “ _Think_ I will like it?” he said.

“Know,” corrected Cadmus. “I know you’ll like it, Father.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Show me!”

Cadmus did not need to be told twice. Without hesitation, from his pocket he carefully extracted a snake that had approached him earlier; tired and hissing, it had approached him in the garden of Grimmauld Place and told Cadmus that she was his familiar, before coiling around his arm to sleep.

“That is a snake,” said Tom, the lightning suddenly settling.

Cadmus nodded. “Yes, Father,” he said. “She approached me today. She’s an Iridescent Shieldtail snake. They’re very rare and… magical.”

 _“And?”_ Tom hissed impatiently.

Cadmus grinned so widely it hurt, and petted his snake on the head. “ **And she’s my familiar,** ” he hissed, in Parseltongue.

Tom suddenly looked elated; all traces of lightning vanished. “ **You speak the tongue?** ” he asked. “ **I hadn’t dared hope.** ”

“ **I speak it,** ” Cadmus confirmed and his familiar, after zipping her tongue out in Tom’s direction, slipped from Cadmus’ fingers and coiled at Tom’s feet, her head lifted in his direction.

“ **You are Master’s father?** ” she asked. “ **I am Selene.** ”

Tom looked at Cadmus with an eyebrow raised. “ **After the witch?** ” he asked.

Camdus nodded.

Selene, ancestor of Rowena, was famed in Greek mythology as being the goddess of the moon; in reality, she had somehow managed to harness the power of the moon and use it to her advantage, and thus became one of the most powerful witches ever seen. From this power, she managed to fashion a flying chariot that she rode across the sky.

That was where the idea of broomsticks came from.

“Why call her Selene?” asked Tom, reverting to English.

“Her skin,” said Cadmus. “It looks like she’s made of night and stars.”

Tom held out a hand, bending down, and Selene slowly slithered up his arm across his shoulders happily. “She is magnificent,” Tom said. “You said she is magical? So little is known of the Iridescent Sheildtail… I trust she has told you what she can do?”

Cadmus nodded. “Yes, Father,” he said. “Their tails act almost like a wand; she can perform any spell I teach her.”

Tom’s eyebrows rose, and he looked at the snake whose head he was delicately stroking. “Truly?” he asked.

“Yes, Father.”

“That is fascinating. Is she aware of Nagini?”

Once again, Cadmus nodded. “She’s eager to meet her,” he said. “Selene has travelled far to bond with me, and has not seen many snakes along the way.”

“How did she get to you?” asked Tom.

Cadmus’ grin was blinding. “Father, she _Apparated._ ”

Tom, who had just hissed at Selene to return to Cadmus, seemed torn between jealousy and pride. “And she is yours? Your familiar?”

“She has been searching for me since her birth, Father, yes.”

“That is…” Tom laughed, and laughed, and it was such evil. “That is wonderful, my heir. You have so pleased me. Please, show Selene your quarters, and get the elves to fetch her something to eat. I have business to attend to. Perhaps you could begin to teach her?”

“Yes, Father,” said Cadmus.

“Meanwhile, I will be meeting with my Circle. Please do not disturb us.”

Cadmus spent the next few months in a similar fashion; Tom was busy, so he did not teach him as often as he had grown used to, but his pleasure was lasting and Cadmus need only say ‘hello’ to the man to lift his spirits; Harry knew that it was not necessarily happiness, and could have been pleasure due to his plans that concerned Cadmus as opposed to happiness at seeing the success of his son, but either way it stopped people from being unnecessarily tortured, so Harry was pleased, himself.

Routine continued; mostly, Cadmus spent time with Selene with occasional visits to the Black House, but in the end his time was mostly spent studying or perfecting magic he had not learnt in his previous lives (either because it was newly discovered or simply because he hadn’t gotten around to it) and teaching Selene the most useful things he could. He also taught her how to transfigure humans into silly things, such as making them grow elephant trunks, and the colour-changing charm, as well as a few prank charms… but it was all in good fun, and Harry thought it would make people at Hogwarts (when he eventually attended) much less wary of her.

Christmas came quickly. Before Cadmus knew it, he was waking up on Christmas morning and handing a gift to his father and another to Selene. While Tom did not celebrate Christmas, and continued to work through it, he did always get his son a gift.

“Here, Father,” said Cadmus, handing over a small, square package. “For you.”

Tom raised an eyebrow; Cadmus had never before gotten Tom something because he was a) too young before and b) unsure what Tom may need – but now he’d had a good few (eight) years to think it over, he’d finally came up with a list of presents that should last until his twentieth birthday.

“What is it?” asked Tom.

Cadmus smiled. “Open it, Father.”

Tom did. And as he did, Cadmus was struck, for a moment, with the impression of a child receiving their first gift – doubtless, Tom had received presents before, but the way he opened this one with such caution and care was very much like how Harry had opened his on his first eleventh birthday, wherein he received his first ever _true_ presents.

“Blood Ink?” asked Tom. Blood Ink was literally blood, but it was blood that came from the user of a Blood Quill; it was valuable and used in a lot of Dark rituals and potions. “And… what is this?”

Piercingly, Tom was staring at him, his face blank and unreadable like his diary. In his hands, he held a small, silver snake – it was not alive, and was the size of a finger. As soon as Tom held it in hand, it coiled twice around his thumb like a ring.

“It’s like having a real snake,” said Cadmus, slowly. “I know you have Nagini, Father, but this is so much smaller than Nagini. You can use it to eavesdrop on peoples’ conversations or hide it in a Death Eater’s uniform to spy on them… Actually, you can use it for a lot of things, namely to communicate with me – the message will be transported to Selene who will be able to tell me – and you can imbue it with certain spells, so it can carry them places and set them off …”

Tom, for once, looked like he didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the snake that was curled around his finger and stroked it, delicately, but only once. And then he looked up at Cadmus. “Who made it?” he asked.

“I did,” Cadmus admitted. “I bought the snake from Knockturn and cast a chain of charms on it that, when they worked together, made it able to hold spells or conversations, and make it so it could communicate with its owner – you. It only responds to Parseltongue. It was already animated when I bought it, used like an owl… I just modified it.”

For a moment, Tom thought. “I hadn’t realised you’d become so excellent at Charms.”

“Yes, Father,” said Cadmus, “It is my best subject, besides Defence, Runes and Dark Arts;” because like it or not, Harry was good at the Dark Arts.

 “Good… That is very good…” What was Tom holding back? He looked uncomfortable. “I… thank you, my heir.”

Oh. _Oh_ , thought Harry. Realisation washed over him; Tom had rarely ever said thank you, and he had probably never received a gift that was hand-made.

Cadmus, sensing that Tom wanted to move past the moment, only smiled.

“I have this for you, my heir,” said Tom. He pulled out a box – flat and rectangular, and wondrously velvet-lined on the inside…

“Slytherin’s locket,” breathed Cadmus. “Father, I–”

“Say nothing,” said Tom, “only wear it, and never take it off. This is Slytherin’s locket, as you well know, but it is more important than even that, my heir. Promise me you will care for it and never let it out of your sight.”

Harry felt as though the world had stopped. He could scarcely breathe, and his chest felt tight, his mouth dry. He looked up at Tom – feeling, somehow, strangely touched – and wondered if he had ever trusted someone as he trusted Cadmus; wondered if he might love Cadmus.

“I promise, Father,” said Cadmus earnestly. “I will guard it with my soul.”

_For you have given me yours, Tom Riddle._


	4. To Thine Own Self be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cadmus is forced to fulfil one of the many duties of a Dark Lord's son...

**– CHAPTER FOUR –**   
**TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE**

“You have been practising?”

This is what Tom Riddle asked of his heir, Cadmus Riddle, only weeks after he turned ten-years-old.  In all of his lives, Harry’s birthday had always been on the same day: July 31st. And now, on August 19th, he found himself facing his exceedingly pleased father (and megalomaniac) Tom, whose Imperious Curse he just threw off. On first try. Easily.

“Yes, Father. Occlumency was more of a struggle to learn but I am certain I have mastered it now, and I found it easy to throw off Imperio.”

He was, of course, not necessarily lying. It was (and had always been) easy for Harry to throw off Imperio, and he _did_ find it harder to learn Occlumency – it was simply that neither of these things occurred within his life as Cadmus. He’d acquired these skills within his first life, although he mastered Occlumency in his second. As he said, he found it difficult to learn.

“Truly? I am going to test your shields – then, after a moment, I want you to lower them so I can look at your defences.”

Cadmus knew he could not refuse, and only braced himself for the impact.

Immediately, he felt Tom in his mind; Tom, who began to poke and prod and then push and shove at his shield, could not get through. Once he stopped attempting to, Harry lowered his shield and Tom wandered into his mind which was filled with mouse-trap like defences and, to anyone that was not Harry, looked like something out of an M.C Escher painting.

It was impossible for anyone to navigate. Indeed, it would take months for them to even gather their bearings.

This was what Tom told him with a viciously pleased smile.

“Thank you, Father,” said Cadmus. “It’s nice to know my hard work paid off.” And it truly was.

“Where is Selene?” asked Tom after a moment. “You will be going to Hogwarts in a year, and Albus Dumbledore will not trust you. This much you know. When he realises Selene is your familiar, I have no doubt in my mind that, seeing he can’t penetrate your mind, he will attempt to look into hers. You have taught her Occlumency as I asked?”

Cadmus nodded. “Yes, sir, but it was harder for her to grasp it.”

“I’d imagine so. Bring her in, my heir. I’ll give them a look.”

Selene, too, passed the test; while there was work to be done, she had a very powerful shield, and it was the defences that needed work. So, Harry helped her to strengthen them until Tom was pleased.

“My heir,” he said one day, “I was hoping you would sit in my meeting today; a gathering of my Inner Circle.”

Cadmus knew it was not an option to say no – there never actually was an option; Tom just liked people to think there was – and so he nodded obediently, managing a smile. “Yes, Father, I’d love to see how it works.”

That was, apparently, the right thing to say, because before Cadmus rightly knew what was happening Tom had smiled, and directed him towards the Meeting Room. Once there, he waited outside the door for a moment and locked eyes with Cadmus.

“Don’t say anything until I address you,” he said. “Don’t answer to anyone. They have no right talking to you, and I will put them in their place.” He glanced at Selene, who was hanging around Cadmus’ neck, and added, “ **Selene, watch Jameson, if you please. I do believe he is a traitor.** ”

Selene nodded, and coiled herself more firmly around Cadmus.

The room was large; a long, dark table stretched down the length of it and a fireplace burned on the back wall. It was empty apart from that, but there were many Death Eaters milling around – not as many as Harry would have thought, however. It seems he gained a great deal more followers in the 70s, known in the future as ‘the years of terror’.

Regardless, those present seemed to fear Voldemort as much as Harry remembered, for silence settled as soon as he stepped inside. “Sit down,” he said in a slow and dragging voice.

Cadmus thought it sounded rather like he was teasing them, and settled into a chair by his father’s side, as indicated. From that position, he could see Dolohov, Nott and Mulciber quite clearly, each of whom were three of the only people to know who Cadmus truly was, not including Rosier and Rowle who sat farther down the table.

“Nott,” Tom started. His voice was so soft that ordinarily, it would have been thought of as a whisper – but the room was as silent as a morgue, and so his voice was like a match in a pitch black room. “Nott, do you bring news of our giant friends?”

“They say they will be ready within the next year for whenever you decide to wage war, my Lord.”

“Excellent… excellent… And what news is there from the vampires, de Rosa?”

“My Lord,” started de Rosa tentatively, “the vampires claim that they are ready but will need insurance that they will be able to feed once over here. They fear that perhaps we are feeding them honeyed words.”

Cadmus saw Voldemort’s hand twitch on the table; apart from that, there was no outward change, and instead Cadmus observed surreptitiously as people stared at him.

Voldemort, it seemed, had noticed too. “Are you perhaps bored with me, my friends?” he asked. “Do you doubt my judgement? Are you ignoring my words?”

Silence. Neither one man nor one woman was brave enough to come forward, until Jameson was seemingly kicked under the table, and he straightened up, averting his eyes from Cadmus.

Voldemort had been staring at him.

“N-No, my Lord,” said Jameson immediately, “I was only wondering what a child–”

“A child!” spat Voldemort. “Tell me, Jameson, do you think me a fool?”

“My – my Lord?”

“I have been watching you, Jameson. Watching you make an example of yourself. Watching you walk in shadows as if that Light that burns in you was not there. So, I ask again: do you think me a fool?”

Jameson did not move. He was pale, pallid, and his blonde locks were the only colour on his person. “N-No, my Lord. You are no fool.”

“Stand.”

Jameson stood.

Voldemort, too, got to his feet. “ **Cadmus,** ” he hissed, “ **stand. Your time has come. Selene, what did you see?** ”

“ **He is a traitor, my Lord,** ” hissed Selene; the Death Eaters’ eyes all locked upon her, and Cadmus was grateful for the cover-up – they would think that Voldemort was talking only to the snake. “ **The way he acts – how he listens – he is too attentive, and not as the others are.** ”

“ **As I thought** ,” agreed Voldemort. He indicated at Cadmus to stand, and stand he did, walking with Voldemort around the table to face Jameson.  “You see,” said Voldemort, “this is why you do not question me, Jameson.” One spell and Jameson was bound. “This is why you do not _betray me._ ”

Jameson cried out; Voldemort hissed through his teeth in displeasure and uttered, “ _Crucio!”_

The screams rang off the walls, pierced ears and hearts and left sound even as the spell was lifted. Harry’s heart was beating fast, but he had seen it all before and worse, and he had felt it all before – and worse.

“Cadmus,” said Voldemort softly. “It is your turn.”

Slowly Cadmus looked away from the writhing man in front of him and into Voldemort’s eyes; he stared for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, turned back to the man and said, “ _Crucio.”_

Jameson’s screams were even worse; he sobbed and spluttered and thrashed on the floor, a muscle in his neck jumping, his shrieking growing ever more intense to Harry because _he_ was doing it – _he_ was torturing this _innocent_ man.

Of course he’d used the Cruciatus Curse before – he’d even killed a man using the Killing Curse – but never had his victims been innocent, or without crime. To Harry, a traitor was not a criminal, they were just scared – and innocent – and trying… to work their way out…

“And now,” murmured Voldemort excitedly, heard above even the man’s howling, “ _kill him._ ”

Harry’s heart hammered and his veins felt taut under his skin but he nodded and opened his mouth, and before he could even understand it, the spell had been forced up his throat.

“ _Avada Kedavra,_ ” he said, and there was a blast of green so very like his eyes, before the man lay still.

That evening, Cadmus was in the library, reading to himself yet again a muggle novel he had disguised as a Charms textbook. He liked to read muggle fiction in order to calm himself down, distract himself and think things through. Of course, Tom would be livid and disgraced if he found this out, so he did it secretly and without chance of being caught.

The good thing about muggle literature was that there was always more. More books were always being written and being published, alongside the hundreds of books Harry had yet to read (although in his ten lives thus far, he had read a good lot).

“My heir,” said Tom, standing in the door, “I have to leave for the night. I will not be here all week. Walburga Black has offered to take you in, and I do not wish for you to be alone.”

“Yes, Father,” said Cadmus. “Walburga is a nice woman.”

“She is of good blood.”

Cadmus watched Tom watch him. “She… is my mother, isn’t she?” asked Cadmus.

Tom was not surprised. “Yes,” he said, “but you need not know her, if you wish.”

“I don’t care for a mother,” admitted Cadmus, “you are all I need.”

Another long, hard stare, before Tom nodded. “You will need only your wand, and Selene, of course. Walburga has clothes for you over there.”

“Of course, Father. Then, I am ready. I will see you in a week.”

“Remember to continue the Arithmancy work. And I shall expect you to have read up on banshees for next week.”

Cadmus stood, nodded, and bowed once to his father. He was about to make his way past Tom when Tom stopped him by placing a hand on his head.

It was, again, that odd phenomenon. The one that felt almost like love but of course could not have been.

“I am proud of you, my heir. You did so very well today, killing that worthless traitor…”

“Of course,” said Cadmus, although the memory stung like acid in his chest, “you asked me to do so.”

Tom’s thumb slowly stroked downwards, and pulled a loose hair away from Cadmus’ forehead; Cadmus, once more, did not know how to respond.

“You are what I imagined you to be and more,” said Tom. “I am proud you are my heir – my son.”

Cadmus’ throat felt tight. He swallowed, nodded. Said, “Thank you, Father,” in an unfamiliar voice, and continued to the Floo once Tom indicated for him to leave.

A flash of green and a polite welcoming from Walburga later, and Cadmus was stood in Sirius’ room, watching Regulus and Sirius bicker over an animated Chaser model he’d given them for Christmas; it was part of a set, a model of the Puddlemere United team.

“Honestly, there are another two Chasers,” said Cadmus in mirth, “surely that one player isn’t so important?”

Sirius and Regulus’ heads snapped sideways to stare at him; Cadmus grinned, waved, and before he knew it he had been tackled to the ground in a hug.

“Merlin’s beard, that _hurt_ ,” said Cadmus with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you two, too. Care to get off me, now?”

Sirius blushed and got to his feet, but Regulus was grinning, and pulled Cadmus up and along to the bed. “Sirius got told off earlier for sticking Kreature to the floor.”

Cadmus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Merlin, Sirius, what have I told you about pranking your family?”

“Not – to – do – it?” Sirius mumbled.

Cadmus laughed and nodded. “Right,” he said. “Your mother won’t like it. Did she hit you?”

Sirius shook his head.

Subconsciously, Cadmus relaxed. “Good,” he said, “that’s good…”

There wasn’t much thought in Cadmus, who consequently found he did not have much to say. He simply sat there, back propped up against the wall, and pulled his brothers into either side of him. One hand, he kept in Regulus’ curly hair, ruffling it affectionately to get the boy to smile. Sirius, on the other hand, swatted his hand away; but he too was smiling and eventually he pulled at a lock of Cadmus’ black hair and watched it spring back up.

Cadmus felt like he was watching the scene distantly, as if detached from his body. It left him feeling discombobulated, and his chest felt as though it was packed tight, so he pulled Sirius and Regulus in for a keener hug.

“What’s wrong, Mus?” Regulus asked after a few minutes.

“What?” Cadmus looked at Regulus then at Sirius in surprise; they both looked stern, and worried, and Cadmus wondered whatever for. “What do you mean?”

“What’s _wrong_ ,” Sirius repeated, as if it were no longer a question. “You’re acting funny. And you look sad.”

Cadmus’ smile was gentle, and he shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I just… haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Cadmus, we’re not silly,” said Sirius quickly; Regulus looked as though he almost believed him. “There’s something wrong.”

“I never said you were silly.”

Regulus, to Cadmus’ horror, had started to tear up. “Mus,” he whispered, “please don’t be sad. Tell us what’s wrong.”

But he couldn’t; of course he couldn’t. How could Cadmus – nay, how could Harry – tell these two little boys who had already grown up far too fast (not unlike himself when he was Harry Potter) that he had had to kill an innocent man earlier that day? And how could he make them understand?

He didn’t think he could.

“I’m not sad,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to Regulus’ head and grinning as the boy made a face, “just thinking, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do,” said Sirius quickly, softly, and he looked so distraught for a moment that Harry was flung back into a time where his godfather was ragged and scarred, broken by the deaths of his adoptive family… “Mus,” Sirius continued, and that was when Cadmus knew he had lost, “Please tell us. We’re not going to stop asking.”

Cadmus knew they wouldn’t, too. Somehow that knowledge hurt. Not like a bruise, or a trapped nerve, or an ache in the head – it hurt like… like killing an innocent person or watching your son die. It was like causing a war without trying to, or seeing your friends feed each other to the storm. It was like witnessing your parent act as though you never existed, or having a lover throw your soul into the jaws of hell…

Cadmus did not know how, but when he pressed a hand to his cheek he realised it was wet. When he closed his eyes and tears fell from his lashes, he choked on his breath, and similarly realised he had begun to cry.

“I killed a man,” he croaked finally, feeling colder at the admission. “Today. My father made me kill an innocent man. He had a daughter, and wife, and a whole life that I took away just like that… and I can’t fix it. My father is so proud of me for doing it; I know he’ll make me do it again…”

On either side, his two brothers were stiff with shock. “I didn’t have a choice… Please try to understand. I would never hurt you – or, or anyone if I had a choice but I had to kill this man, and I didn’t want to. You’re just so young – I didn’t think you’d understand… I didn’t want to tell you; I’m – I’m meant to _protect_ you!”

“You–” Little Regulus swallowed so hard Cadmus could hear it; he could feel the beating of his heart and Sirius’ heart and Regulus’, yet knowing they were safe placated him only slightly. He could not stop the tears, but it was more of an automatic response; his guilt, his sadness, his immortal shame were forced to the bottom of his soul, and left to rot.

He was young, after all, in terms of immortality. Death often reminded him of this, at times where he had done wrong and hated himself for it. He was still so young and had much to learn; he could not know what was best to do at every given moment, or what was best for the whole bloody _world._

Of course, he had never before killed a man who had not in some way deserved it.

He felt his youth was not reason enough to excuse that.

Regulus tried again to speak. “You hurt somebody? Without a good reason?” he asked.

Cadmus nodded. He found himself meeting Regulus’ eyes, and it was hard to do, harder than his admission. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I killed a man.”

“But you had to,” said Regulus, just as quietly. “Your dad made you?”

“Yes, he made me. But I think maybe… maybe I did have a choice that I didn’t see…”

“No!” cried Sirius suddenly. He shot up, away from Cadmus, and Cadmus’ soul twisted in such a way he was paralysed, floating in a black late that was lonesome except for the sharks. “No, Cadmus, it wasn’t your fault – he made you – you would never do that! Stop – stop saying that, stop saying that! You’d never… You’re Cadmus…”

“Yeah,” added Regulus, and he too was crying now. “You’d never hurt anybody if they didn’t deserve it, Mus.”

Sirius finally crawled back to Cadmus. His eyes were filled with water. “Your father, he did it,” he said. “He did it. Not you. You wouldn’t…”

And then Regulus and Sirius were back in his arms, tucked up into his chest like the two brothers they were to him. They cried as one, their hearts beat as one, and Cadmus buried his face into their hair and took deep breaths. As a unit, they comforted each other with their silence, and remained a steady fortress, more powerful and awe-inspiring than Azkaban itself.

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Cadmus eventually murmured, the trails of his unravelled heart held tightly in their hands. “I wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. And I’m going to make sure you never have to. I’m going to protect you.”

“Us, too,” sniffed Regulus; “We protect you, too.”

“Like a team,” added Sirius, “in Quidditch. We’ve got each other’s backs, right, Mus?”

“Right,” said Cadmus. “Like a team.”

He did not say he loved them, for he didn’t think he needed to. Likewise, they did not mention how Cadmus’ arms shook around them, and how his tears did not leave him until sleep granted him release from all conscious thought.


End file.
